Allochthonous

I am drifting through my late night meditation,
Seeing things I’ve gathered, bought or found.
Wondering when the reaper comes to claim me,
How will all these seem to those around?
Say it was a loved one, like a brother.
Who had to traipse through all that I have saved.
Would he cry or judge the swelled collection?
Or gawk at what lies left, my cavalcade.
Or will he laugh and think, “Wow, what a strange boy. “
Seeing all the skulls, games, books in sleeves.
Thinking that I never grew past Nineteen Ninety Two,
And miss me in the ground, lock up, and leave.

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